Fewdman
Nov 29th, 2000, 10:41:32 PM
OOC: I decided to write a bit of backround for Fewd, so here goes…
A Slicer’s Work
Sneaking aboard had been easy, far as that sort of thing went. But how many people were crazy enough to ride a thousand kilometers in an aircraft’s landing gear? Most people, if they had known what Morgan Evanar’s real job was, would have marked him for the loony bin on the spot.
        It didn’t matter much now, he figured as he glanced at his wrist chrono. As if cued, the landing gear bay doors dropped open. He scrambled about as the gear unfolded and telescoped outward, making sure his grip was secure, and his visibility minimum.
       
Drozig Joshen decided this would be either a very good day, or a very rotten day. Not for him, of course. No, he always made sure to have a good time. It was one of the perks of being extremely wealthy. He had something of a small crime organization that was bigger than all his competitors thought. It suited him just fine.
“Let everyone think that I’m a small fish in a big pond. Well, maybe I am a small fish. But I’m a small fish with some damn big teeth!”
He liked the imagery. Maybe I’ll bite someone, just to practice using my teeth a bit. Yes, that would be just dandy, he thought as the shuttle settled onto the rooftop landing pad.
Drozig’s two bodyguards hovered close as he walked to the singular massive door growing from the rooftop like a cypress knee. He reached into his four thousand-credit suit (which the tailor had said that it made him look dashing, when it actually accentuated his beer gut) and pulled out his key card and slid it through the scanner. It beeped twice, the light on it turning green, and the door groaned open. His taller guard, Johansen walked through first. Drozig followed, and Bunnelli looked over his shoulder as he entered last. The door lurched, and it was closed.
Fewd dashed like a madman for the door as soon as he heard it shut. It took him five seconds. “Twenty Five seconds left” he thought, as he skidded to a halt in front of the card slot. It took another second to get his slicing datapad out, and two more to get his modified key card plugged in and inserted in the slot. “21 seconds before this thing dumps it’s memory completely, in terms of recent use,” he mumbled to himself as his fingers danced about the datapad as he instructed it to try different encryption systems and languages. It settled on a 13 character alphanumeric Basic based sequence. 13 seconds.
“Cmon, open, damn you.”
It was purely up to the datapad now.
10 seconds,
9 seconds,
8 seconds,
7 seconds, the light on the card slot turned green, and sounded two satisfied beeps. The door lurched open, and antiseptically clean white linoleum floors greeted him. Morgan called up the buildings floor plan as his hand found the earpiece for the pad. It had the entire security and electrical system overlaid on the floor plan. Cones of camera’s vision, and colored ones indicated actual display of those areas to monitors. Only slight worry was the guard on floor 548, 32 floors down. He would have to pass by there to switch from a turbolift to stairs.
“This job could be a major potential pain in the butt. Well, on the bright side, this check certainly will cover this sort of risk. Guess it evens out.” Fewd figured.
He periodically ducked in and out of doorways as the pad’s beeps suggested. His reflection danced about with him as he went, undetected by the feeble security. Soon he had traversed the 32 floors. Around the corner Morgan observed the lone guard.
“Maybe, with a bit of luck, I can sneak by…”
Joe Ramirez had been having a rotten week. He had just been dumped by his girlfriend of a year and a half. She, in his own words, was more attractive than a… actually, he really didn’t have any words for how attractive she was. He had simply decided on “Damn Hot” and left it at that. He scowled as he looked about the corridor.
“This job reeks worse than bantha dung!” He thought to himself. Just as he slumped against the wall, he saw Morgan walking his way. Joe reached for his blaster.
“HEY! YO…”
Fewd’s hand blurred in and out of his coat in a practiced motion, and shot Joe Ramirez square between the eyes.
“OW! YOU SONAFA!” He had just been shot by a paintball, and was desperately trying wipe the paint of his eyes. The slicer hefted his modified Desert Eagle. Ramirez was lifted into the air and slammed against the wall, out cold.
Ramirez woke up in a cleaning droid storage closet, with his hands, feet and mouth secured by one of man’s greatest inventions, duct tape. His week was sure to get worse, he figured.
Fewd jotted down the number on the door as he walked away. He would be free in about an hour, or as soon as his employers felt like getting him out of the closet. He continued on to the data storage room to steal the new repulsorlifts designs. They were going to be aftermarket parts for speeders and swoops. The market for such parts had been getting very lucrative lately, and the company that had hired Morgan Evanar wanted their design to be the best on the market.
Two floors down Drozig was grinning like a madman. Current profits were higher than originally projected! Ten percent higher!
“
This is great!” He proclaimed loudly. The accountant afforded him with a warm smile.
The two body guards looked up from their game of sabbac as they heard their boss’ laugh through the accountant’s office door. They returned their gazes to their cards. Bunelli dropped two New Republic credit chits on the table.
“Whatcha got?” The broad shouldered body guard asked as he laid his cards upon the table.
“Idiots array.” Johansen replied, in his oddly accented Basic. His lips were parted wide, showing gleaming white teeth. He scooped the medium sized pile of chits his way when his boss burst through the door, nearly skipping like a schoolgirl.
“Cmon boys! Time to go!”
Johansen finished collecting his chits as Bunelli walked out the door, with Drozig strutting behind him. He missed the tall guy in the green coat down the hall with his quick once over, but he looked again, and saw green cloth disappear around the corner.
“Possible intruder, floor 540, heading for the second south turbolift.”
Fewd swore as he heard his computer inform him that the security system was no longer running it’s standard sweep patterns. He looked at the camera in the turbolift. Morgan casually reached for his DE, crouched down, and shocked it to pieces. Seconds later, the turbolift ground to a halt. Fewd glanced at the floor indicator. “15”, it stated in clear, red numbers. He flicked the switch on the massive handgun and blew the emergency exit covering free.
Outside the lift, six heavily armored and armed guards were about to investigate.
“1”
“2”
“3”
One pushed the door release button, and the other five charged in, heavy rifles ready for whatever may be waiting. They found nothing but the toasted camera and the smell of burnt electronics.
Morgan slid down the matinance access ladder in the turbolift shaft, slowing when the large painted numbers displayed two, and halting at one. He pushed the button for the doors, and swung himself out. Multitudes of people stared, but Fewd casually walked toward the front doors.
“Sir! Excuse me! Sir!” The desk attendant tried to stop him, but politely. Morgan grinned widely and waved as he strode through the door, onto the busy, crowded street.
OOC: Well, I’m going to add more, but consider that chapter one or something. So folks, so far, any good?
A Slicer’s Work
Sneaking aboard had been easy, far as that sort of thing went. But how many people were crazy enough to ride a thousand kilometers in an aircraft’s landing gear? Most people, if they had known what Morgan Evanar’s real job was, would have marked him for the loony bin on the spot.
        It didn’t matter much now, he figured as he glanced at his wrist chrono. As if cued, the landing gear bay doors dropped open. He scrambled about as the gear unfolded and telescoped outward, making sure his grip was secure, and his visibility minimum.
       
Drozig Joshen decided this would be either a very good day, or a very rotten day. Not for him, of course. No, he always made sure to have a good time. It was one of the perks of being extremely wealthy. He had something of a small crime organization that was bigger than all his competitors thought. It suited him just fine.
“Let everyone think that I’m a small fish in a big pond. Well, maybe I am a small fish. But I’m a small fish with some damn big teeth!”
He liked the imagery. Maybe I’ll bite someone, just to practice using my teeth a bit. Yes, that would be just dandy, he thought as the shuttle settled onto the rooftop landing pad.
Drozig’s two bodyguards hovered close as he walked to the singular massive door growing from the rooftop like a cypress knee. He reached into his four thousand-credit suit (which the tailor had said that it made him look dashing, when it actually accentuated his beer gut) and pulled out his key card and slid it through the scanner. It beeped twice, the light on it turning green, and the door groaned open. His taller guard, Johansen walked through first. Drozig followed, and Bunnelli looked over his shoulder as he entered last. The door lurched, and it was closed.
Fewd dashed like a madman for the door as soon as he heard it shut. It took him five seconds. “Twenty Five seconds left” he thought, as he skidded to a halt in front of the card slot. It took another second to get his slicing datapad out, and two more to get his modified key card plugged in and inserted in the slot. “21 seconds before this thing dumps it’s memory completely, in terms of recent use,” he mumbled to himself as his fingers danced about the datapad as he instructed it to try different encryption systems and languages. It settled on a 13 character alphanumeric Basic based sequence. 13 seconds.
“Cmon, open, damn you.”
It was purely up to the datapad now.
10 seconds,
9 seconds,
8 seconds,
7 seconds, the light on the card slot turned green, and sounded two satisfied beeps. The door lurched open, and antiseptically clean white linoleum floors greeted him. Morgan called up the buildings floor plan as his hand found the earpiece for the pad. It had the entire security and electrical system overlaid on the floor plan. Cones of camera’s vision, and colored ones indicated actual display of those areas to monitors. Only slight worry was the guard on floor 548, 32 floors down. He would have to pass by there to switch from a turbolift to stairs.
“This job could be a major potential pain in the butt. Well, on the bright side, this check certainly will cover this sort of risk. Guess it evens out.” Fewd figured.
He periodically ducked in and out of doorways as the pad’s beeps suggested. His reflection danced about with him as he went, undetected by the feeble security. Soon he had traversed the 32 floors. Around the corner Morgan observed the lone guard.
“Maybe, with a bit of luck, I can sneak by…”
Joe Ramirez had been having a rotten week. He had just been dumped by his girlfriend of a year and a half. She, in his own words, was more attractive than a… actually, he really didn’t have any words for how attractive she was. He had simply decided on “Damn Hot” and left it at that. He scowled as he looked about the corridor.
“This job reeks worse than bantha dung!” He thought to himself. Just as he slumped against the wall, he saw Morgan walking his way. Joe reached for his blaster.
“HEY! YO…”
Fewd’s hand blurred in and out of his coat in a practiced motion, and shot Joe Ramirez square between the eyes.
“OW! YOU SONAFA!” He had just been shot by a paintball, and was desperately trying wipe the paint of his eyes. The slicer hefted his modified Desert Eagle. Ramirez was lifted into the air and slammed against the wall, out cold.
Ramirez woke up in a cleaning droid storage closet, with his hands, feet and mouth secured by one of man’s greatest inventions, duct tape. His week was sure to get worse, he figured.
Fewd jotted down the number on the door as he walked away. He would be free in about an hour, or as soon as his employers felt like getting him out of the closet. He continued on to the data storage room to steal the new repulsorlifts designs. They were going to be aftermarket parts for speeders and swoops. The market for such parts had been getting very lucrative lately, and the company that had hired Morgan Evanar wanted their design to be the best on the market.
Two floors down Drozig was grinning like a madman. Current profits were higher than originally projected! Ten percent higher!
“
This is great!” He proclaimed loudly. The accountant afforded him with a warm smile.
The two body guards looked up from their game of sabbac as they heard their boss’ laugh through the accountant’s office door. They returned their gazes to their cards. Bunelli dropped two New Republic credit chits on the table.
“Whatcha got?” The broad shouldered body guard asked as he laid his cards upon the table.
“Idiots array.” Johansen replied, in his oddly accented Basic. His lips were parted wide, showing gleaming white teeth. He scooped the medium sized pile of chits his way when his boss burst through the door, nearly skipping like a schoolgirl.
“Cmon boys! Time to go!”
Johansen finished collecting his chits as Bunelli walked out the door, with Drozig strutting behind him. He missed the tall guy in the green coat down the hall with his quick once over, but he looked again, and saw green cloth disappear around the corner.
“Possible intruder, floor 540, heading for the second south turbolift.”
Fewd swore as he heard his computer inform him that the security system was no longer running it’s standard sweep patterns. He looked at the camera in the turbolift. Morgan casually reached for his DE, crouched down, and shocked it to pieces. Seconds later, the turbolift ground to a halt. Fewd glanced at the floor indicator. “15”, it stated in clear, red numbers. He flicked the switch on the massive handgun and blew the emergency exit covering free.
Outside the lift, six heavily armored and armed guards were about to investigate.
“1”
“2”
“3”
One pushed the door release button, and the other five charged in, heavy rifles ready for whatever may be waiting. They found nothing but the toasted camera and the smell of burnt electronics.
Morgan slid down the matinance access ladder in the turbolift shaft, slowing when the large painted numbers displayed two, and halting at one. He pushed the button for the doors, and swung himself out. Multitudes of people stared, but Fewd casually walked toward the front doors.
“Sir! Excuse me! Sir!” The desk attendant tried to stop him, but politely. Morgan grinned widely and waved as he strode through the door, onto the busy, crowded street.
OOC: Well, I’m going to add more, but consider that chapter one or something. So folks, so far, any good?